


Roxanne

by babyrubysoho



Series: Movie Camera [2]
Category: Nightmare (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Jerk Ruka, M/M, Moulin Rouge Parody, Ni~ya is a Slut, Passion, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Side Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyrubysoho/pseuds/babyrubysoho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruka and Hitsugi are both jealous men, but they deal with it in very different ways...</p><p>You can read this as a PWP side chapter to Man With a Movie Camera, because it's set in the same fic, sometime after Ruka and Ni~ya have started sleeping together but before everyone finds out that Hitsu is in love with Sakito.</p><p>Actually, it's (loosely!) based on the brilliant Roxanne tango scene from Moulin Rouge...well, the beginning of it, at least (I took some liberties with it). In which Hitsu will take the role of cute miserable Ewan McGregor, Ruka will be the jealous narcoleptic Argentinian (hah), and Ni~ya will beautifully portray the bitchy slut courtesan with black hair.</p><p>*Note: I am currently transferring 12 years’ worth of my fic from various murky corners of the Net to AO3. So if this looks familiar, that’s probably why. Either that or I’m just appallingly unoriginal…*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roxanne

By the time the three of them had finished jamming, Hitsugi was tired and happy and ready for a quiet evening in with Sakito, who had promised to message him as soon as his meeting was done and _not_ to go out for drinks with any hot secretaries he might stumble across on his way out of the building. He checked his phone: Sakito was late already, but that didn't worry him too much; getting the beautiful guitarist to himself was a strategic battle, and there were always small setbacks (such as everyone Sakito met wanting to abscond with him to a love hotel) to contend with before he got his way. He could be patient. Unlike some of his bandmates.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Ni~ya suddenly, catching sight of the glowing digital clock by the mixing desk. “Gotta go!”

“Go?” echoed Ruka, slow on the uptake as ever. He swivelled round on his drum stool and gave Ni~ya an ambiguous look. “I thought we could have dinner somewhere.”

“Sorry. Already made my dinner plans.” Ni~ya shrugged apologetically and closed his bass case, sticking it in the corner of the room, his tech having long since gone home. Hitsugi noted that Ruka didn't bother inviting _him_ to dinner, and wondered if it was something to get paranoid about. Then again, for the drummer 'dinner' was probably some kind of code for 'shag you senseless in a restaurant bathroom', so he should be grateful _not_ to be asked.

From the look of disappointment Ruka was aiming at his on-and-off lover, this probably _was_ what he'd had in mind. Ni~ya took no notice and shrugged into his jacket. Hitsugi had seen it before, and wished _he_ could get away with something so stylish, blood-red, tailored leather that threw the bassist's black hair and milk-white skin into sharp relief in a sex-tastic Snow White kind of way. He caught Ruka staring fixedly at it, and at the pale V of flesh bared by Ni~ya's half-buttoned shirt.

“Later,” said Ni~ya, giving them both a wave and darting eagerly away. Hitsugi waved back, but he was already gone. Ruka just grunted. Then, once the heavy studio door had closed behind him,

“He's wearing that fucking jacket. You know what _that_ means.” Hitsugi shrugged neutrally, then checked his phone. Still no message from Saki. “It means he's on the pull again.”

“Sorry?”

“ _Dating_ ,” said Ruka sourly. “That thing's his lucky charm.”

“He looks pretty good in it,” Hitsugi agreed.

“And he knows it.” Ruka shoved his drumsticks into their pocket with unnecessary force. “You know how many women he's dated this month? Three. And it's only the 14th.”

“Impressive,” said Hitsugi, who wasn't really paying attention, since the Ruka Diatribe happened on a fairly regular basis and he could almost recite bits of it by heart already. And, because he was feeling slightly neglected and because listening to Ruka bitch tended to cause bitching in others, “at least _you've_ got Yomi to fill the void.” Ruka huffed.

“Apparently Yomi is otherwise engaged tonight.” He leaned down to tighten a bolt on his cymbal stand, and Hitsugi heard some bad-tempered mumbling, of which all he caught were the words 'Chiba' and 'pervert' and 'timeshare'.

“You'll just have to amuse yourself, then.”

“Hmph.” Ruka stood up, stretched his lanky arms ceiling-ward, and made a face. “You don't know what it's like: you have the goodness to care about someone, you spend half your time pleasing them, hell, maybe you even _love_ them...and just when you want them, they're off screwing some complete stranger!” Hitsugi wasn't sure if Ruka was talking about Ni~ya now or the whole Yomi/Chiba combo, but either way he could relate to it. He regarded his silent phone worriedly; Ruka couldn't possibly know it, of course, but he had just described Hitsugi's own romantic situation perfectly. And hearing it out loud didn't make things any better. Even so, he found himself hanging on the older man's every word.

“Sounds...like trouble?” he ventured, in what he hoped was a politely interested tone. Ruka shot him a curious glance, and shrugged.

“Well, you get what you pay for. So to speak. You get involved with a guy like that, you'd better be prepared to run the entire emotional fucking gamut.” He began to count off on his fingers with a teacherly air. “First, there's desire. That's a no-brainer. _Passion_ , and that almost makes it all worth it. 'Cos then comes _jealousy_.” He gave the wide-eyed Hitsugi a cryptic nod. “Anger. Betrayal, if you want to be melodramatic about it.”

“I...don't really want to be _anything_ about it.” Ruka nodded sagely.

“Best way. Trust me on this, you get caught by a man like _him..._ the jealousy will drive you mad.”

Hitsugi had a bare second to wonder who that ominous _him_ referred to before the door banged open and Ni~ya stepped back in, hair windblown and cheeks flushed faintly with running.

“Forgot my wallet.” Hitsugi noticed Ruka stiffen at the sight of his bassist, which was hardly surprising given how over-excited he'd been allowed to get in the interim.

“We were _just_ talking about you,” he said, voice dropping in pitch in a way that made Ni~ya look round sharply.

“Well, who doesn't like being the centre of attention,” the smaller man said, after he'd taken a good look at Ruka and decided there was no time to worry about whatever odd mood he was in now. “Okay, call you later, bye!” He turned back towards the door, jamming his wallet into his jacket pocket.

“ _Don't go_.” Ruka reached out abruptly, catching Ni~ya's arm and spinning him sharply round. Hitsugi saw their gazes snap together over their raised hands, bodies poised and tense, and could almost sense the spark. He felt a brief flash of envy, but that was nothing new: Ni~ya had a kind of casual, inbuilt grace, and even caught off-balance like this his turn was like a dance. Hitsugi had observed this kind of movement before, idly wishing he had some of it himself; it was terribly attractive.

“Lay off,” said Ni~ya heatedly, not in the least bothered by his guitarist's presence. “I'm late.”

“I won't let you go.” Ruka swayed forward slightly as Ni~ya tried to tug his arm back, but otherwise didn't move an inch. “Not tonight. Take that jacket off.”

Narrowing his eyes, the bassist aimed his free hand in a cuff at Ruka's head; the taller man caught his wrist before he could connect, drawing him closer by main force until their bodies were a mere inch apart.

“You know the rules,” Ni~ya said, voice tight and angry. “You don't get to play with me while I'm in a relationship.”

“ _Relationship_ ,” spat Ruka. “Don't give me that. I know what that damn jacket's for! You must barely know her.”

“I know enough!”

“Tell me.”

“She's beautiful,” began Ni~ya, who always got a kick out of riling his drummer. Ruka scowled. “She's thirty-five. She's rich. Isn't that enough to be going on with?”

“You know what you sound like?” Ruka was getting genuinely furious; Hitsugi could tell by the way his voice dropped, and by Ni~ya's quick shiver; he began to edge towards the exit.

“What?”

“A whore.”

“How _original_ ,” said Ni~ya, nostrils flaring, but Ruka wasn't finished.

“And you wonder why you can't keep a girlfriend longer than three weeks!”

“Yeah, jeez, wonder why _that_ is.”

“It's because,” Ruka continued doggedly, “you're like this! If you're doling out romance according to the highest bidder, what woman is gonna _trust_ you?!”

“This is just because I said she was rich, right?”

“If no-one can trust you, how's anyone going to _love_ you?”

“You're so jealous it's funny.” Ni~ya curled one corner of his pretty mouth up in his trademark smirk; then it vanished as Ruka lunged forward and kissed him, letting go of his wrists to bury his hands in that shining black hair.

Hitsugi took this as his cue to leave, and had just long enough before the door closed behind him to hear the sound of a hand connecting emphatically with someone's face. He rode the elevator down, checking his phone once again. Nothing. Sighing miserably, he reflected on the charming little scene he'd just witnessed: Ruka was a total drama queen, no doubt of it, but Hitsugi recognised the accents of true jealousy, and felt for him. He had plenty of personal experience, after all, though his own situation, not to mention his personality, forbade him expressing it.

“Saki...” Hitsugi shook his head. He clearly wasn't going to show up, and, however hard the younger guitarist tried, it was nigh-on impossible not to imagine what he was getting up to instead, and with whom. His imagination, right on cue, flashed up a series of dismaying images, of Sakito and the nameless beautiful women he favoured, their eager eyes meeting his, their manicured fingers brushing his own, their red lips on his skin. He stopped walking, and gave himself a good mental scolding. There was nothing he could do about any of this, he wasn't Ruka, after all. But, on nights like tonight, _not_ saying something was so difficult he could hardly stand it.

Hitsugi decided that depression was the better part of valour, and that now would be a wise time to give up, go home, and get drunk. But he supposed there were a couple of places he could look first...

 

* * *

 

Neither Ruka or Ni~ya noticed the door shutting behind their bandmate: Ruka because his ears were still ringing from the slap he'd just been given, and Ni~ya because it felt so good to hit Ruka that nothing else mattered for the moment.

“You _know_ the rules,” snarled Ni~ya again, pink tongue darting across his bottom lip, which still tingled from the pressure of the kiss. “I'm dating. I'm dating _tonight_! You think I want to go to her with some other man all over me?”

“You should be used to it by now,” Ruka said, prodding gingerly at his cheek and watching Ni~ya carefully in case he tried to explode a second time.

“Gonna call me a whore again?”

“Don't need to. You know what you are.”

“You're getting boring.” Ni~ya gave an airy toss of his sable head, visibly unconcerned by his drummer's insults. “I'm going. Now.”

But Ruka was deceptively quick, something his friends tended to forget because it was usually so well hidden by his surly spaciness. Before Ni~ya could make what should have been his final exit, Ruka had taken one long step forward and grasped the front of the troublesome red jacket with both hands, jerking Ni~ya back towards him roughly. Ni~ya, who intensely disliked being manhandled, and especially tonight, gave a dangerous rumble (which he'd actually picked up from Ruka, but whatever worked...) and pushed at him, pale fingers vicious against his ribcage.

For a long moment neither of them moved, the only sound in the room their mingled, excited breaths. They were almost an even match, physically, and Ni~ya was legendarily stubborn. But Ruka, when he was in a temper, seemed to be able to call on the vast reserves of energy he conserved in his everyday role of couch potato, and at last he won out. He let out a triumphant grunt as Ni~ya tumbled forward against his chest, body incensed and trembling everywhere they touched. Ruka's arms went around him possessively.

“Ni~ya-chan,” he murmured against the shell of one pale ear, “don't be like this. Just accept when you're beaten and play with me.”

“Be like _this_?” said Ni~ya darkly, gasping and digging in his nails as Ruka's lips moved over his skin. “You fucking _love_ me like this.”

“So you'll stay?” Looking that smug, Ni~ya thought, was just uncalled-for.

“I can reschedule for a bit later.” He gave Ruka another smirk. “It won't take you long, will it.” As expected, this got him a rough shaking and a suitably annoyed drummer, who transferred his mouth to Ni~ya's throat as he spoke.

“It'll take as long as it takes...until you're so covered with _some other man_ that you'll have to wear a damn _scarf_ to stop her noticing.” So saying, he set his teeth to the fine white skin, biting down hard enough that Ni~ya let out a sharp, involuntary whine and clutched at his shirt. He pressed a kiss against the bruising flesh, feeling the neat indent of teeth-marks beneath his tongue; Ni~ya shuddered in his arms, and Ruka was _sure_ he'd get his way now. For tonight, at least.

“You think...you _own_ me?” came Ni~ya's voice, unsteady with pleasure and decidedly pissed off.

“Somebody should.” Ruka buried his face in the bassist's neck and took a long, leisurely breath, inhaling the scent while Ni~ya tried to think up an appropriately damning comeback.

“I...” He didn't get any further; as soon as he opened his mouth Ruka had grasped his head with both hands, kissing him again, swallowing whatever words he had been going to say. “ _Mmph_...!”

Ruka persisted, emptying every ounce of passionate anger into the embrace, and suddenly Ni~ya was pliant and eager beneath him, returning the kiss so forcefully that Ruka had to take a step backwards. He ran his hands into Ni~ya's luxurious hair, he never got tired of doing that, the strands silky and crackling beneath his fingers. The pale man gave a brief, muffled moan, melting red-hot in his arms. By the time they resurfaced both of them were flushed and breathless, taking frantic gulps of air between short, fierce kisses. Ruka observed his lover with satisfaction and barely-suppressed awe: Ni~ya was so beautiful like this, rare colour in his cheeks and in the darker pink of his lips where Ruka's mouth had marked his.

“Now...take off the jacket,” he ordered, hands running the length of Ni~ya's slim waist beneath the red leather. “...And everything else.”

“ _Here_?” said Ni~ya, who was looking a little dazed, possibly because he had lost the argument but possibly due to lack of oxygen. He slid his arms up Ruka's back.

“Right here.” Ruka disengaged himself just enough to ease the jacket off Ni~ya's shoulders, letting it drop to the floor with disdain. He'd really taken a dislike to that jacket.

“That was expensive, you know,” complained Ni~ya, hands on his hips.

“Money, money,” Ruka muttered, rather unfairly; “give it a _rest_.” As he spoke he trailed his hands up the dark silk of Ni~ya's shirt, taking in the slim curves and light muscle beneath the fabric with anticipatory delight. Ni~ya opened his mouth to argue, again; Ruka just took two handfuls of silk and _pulled_ , scattering the few buttons the other man had actually bothered to do up and ripping the shirt open.

“You _fucker_!” exclaimed Ni~ya hotly as he was spun round to face the door so Ruka could tug the garment off his back and fling it aside dramatically. He completed the turn almost without stopping, pivoting gracefully back to the drummer, the movement timed perfectly to allow Ruka to make a determined dive for his belt buckle.

It might almost have looked funny, Ruka reflected as he continued to strip his bandmate: he and Ni~ya had worked together as rhythm section for so many years that they were perfectly attuned to each other's habits of movement and natural tempo, and now it showed. Ni~ya moved with him unconsciously, even when he was angry, and the process of disrobing him ended up so neatly synchronised it was like dancing, smooth movements full of feeling and desire. He let his fingers brush Ni~ya's wonderful white skin as the clothes slid off him, teasing, intuitive touches, and by the time the bassist was naked he was smouldering with arousal, black eyes flashing hungrily.

“You want to go first?” asked Ni~ya breathlessly, having temporarily forgotten about his ruined shirt. He took a step forward to insinuate his body against Ruka's, one hand rising to thumb across his covered nipple while the other glided between his legs. Ruka kissed him, his cock hard and impatient to feel Ni~ya's fingers.

Ni~ya broke the kiss reluctantly, and began to slide down his body to the floor. Ruka was rarely so lucky as to have Ni~ya actually _offer_ to blow him, and by rights should have let him proceed with gusto. But this was a special occasion: he had won an argument, and that sure as hell didn't happen every day. And he was jealous; yes, he was still jealous, and he felt that something a little more intimate than a blow-job was called for: he wanted as much of Ni~ya as he could possibly get, for as long as they could both stand it.

He took Ni~ya by the elbow and pulled him back to his feet, glancing around for a suitable surface on which to do this (Ruka was a touch obsessive by nature, and tended to collect interesting sex locations like a philatelist collects stamps). Ni~ya watched him with raised eyebrows, not accustomed to having Ruka baulk at the prospect of begging-free oral sex. Or any kind of sex Ni~ya should feel so generous as to offer.

“Problem?” he said archly. Ruka turned back to him, gripping him by the shoulders urgently.

“I want to fuck you.”

“ _No_!” said Ni~ya, indignantly. But Ruka had built up an irritating level of tolerance to his refusals, and was so used to them by now that the first few never even registered.

“You know you always like it in the end.”

“You don't deserve it!”

“I'm going to do it anyway,” Ruka told him, kissing him soundly. Ni~ya got his head free, spluttering, but Ruka had already located his suitable surface and was taking advantage of his disorientation to aim him at it like a heat-seeking missile.

“I...said... _no_!” growled Ni~ya, who in fact did love the _feeling_ of sex with Ruka but objected fiercely to the power dynamic.

“Tonight,” managed Ruka, dragging one of Ni~ya's arms up behind his back and twisting it warningly, “you're mine. So _be_ mine and do as I say!” Ni~ya arched his spine and hissed in protest, but Ruka really _was_ strong when he wanted to be, and the next thing he knew he was being shoved forward and down until his chest hit the studio's industrial-size keyboard with a discordant jangle of notes.

“Oww, you _sod_!”

“That wasn't very musical of you,” was Ruka's only comment; his fingers appeared by Ni~ya's head, flicking the keyboard to Off mode before pausing to run possessively along the nape of his neck. The other hand kept a firm grip on his incapacitated arm, ready to wrench it higher should he try and escape.

“Now what?” asked Ni~ya sulkily, as Ruka's fingers continued their tantalising meander down the sensitive line of his back.

“Luckily for you,” said Ruka, removing his hand to fumble about in his back pocket, “these days I _always_ come prepared.” He slapped something down on the keyboard, and Ni~ya found he could turn his head just enough to see condoms and a miniature tube of lube out of the corner of his eye.

“You are so fucking lame – _ahh_!!” His supercilious tone turned to a yelp mid-sentence as Ruka's free hand landed with quite impressive force against the perfect curve of his ass.

“ _Lame_?” retorted Ruka, and Ni~ya could just tell he was grinning. “We'll see who's fucking _lame_ when you're limping around the Shoxx photoshoot tomorrow!”

Ni~ya writhed beneath him angrily: he didn't like pain, as a rule, but he could stand it; indignity, though, he didn't deal well with. Ruka just raised his hand and delivered another stinging slap to his behind.

“Embarrassed?” Ruka observed his lover's pink face and wordless affront happily. “Really, Ni~ya-chan, _Yomi_ takes worse on a daily basis with half the fuss.” Ni~ya started to growl out something uncomplimentary about their vocalist, but before he could finish Ruka began again, this time not stopping until Ni~ya was swearing vengeance tearfully under his breath, head hanging limp and black hair sweeping in fluid waves towards the floor.

Ni~ya was going to _kill_ Ruka, he was quite sure about that: he had never been in a more humiliating position in his life, and the fact that anyone could walk through the door and _see_ him made it worse. Unfortunately, it would have to wait, because in spite of this – or, god forbid, _because_ of it – he was so turned on right now that it was almost as painful as his abused behind, and if it wasn't dealt with soon he thought he would go mad.

He didn't know how he was going to communicate this to Ruka without sounding desperate, and found himself biting his lip to avoid saying something degrading. The drummer knew how to read the signs, however, and before Ni~ya could frame his demands he felt a slick finger push its way authoritatively inside him.

“Ahh!”

“It doesn't hurt,” said Ruka, more a statement than a question. Ni~ya gritted his teeth and shook his head; his arm was aching terribly where Ruka still had hold of it, but the feeling between his legs was wonderful: the drummer really was an expert, and Ni~ya supposed he owed Yomi some gratitude for being such a willing guinea-pig all this time.

By the time Ruka had three fingers inside him Ni~ya was all but lost, the grudging pleasure transmuted into full-blown bliss, even without anyone paying the slightest attention to his hard-on.

“Ruka...” he heard himself whimper, and was far gone enough to be only mildly ashamed at the sound.

“Hmm?” Ruka nudged his legs wider, fingers hitting his prostate with unerring skill. “You want something?”

“I...no.”

“All right,” said Ruka, and continued what he was doing. Ni~ya gave a snarl of frustration, at either himself or at Ruka, he wasn't sure. His free hand gripped the cold metal of the keyboard casing, nails finding small purchase on its smooth surface, but he had to hold onto _something_ to make sure he didn't lose himself completely.

“ _Ruka_...!” he said again, after another minute, and now he _was_ begging, no doubt about it, and when Ruka spoke he could hear the black triumph in every word.

“Yes? Tell me, Ni~ya-chan.” Ruka let go of his arm abruptly and grasped his chin, drawing his head round, but even now he was free Ni~ya found he had no intention of fighting against this. “ _Tell me what you want_.”

“Fuck me!” pleaded Ni~ya instantly, leaning his cheek into Ruka's hand engagingly. “Please...!!”

“ _Good_ boy,” Ruka said, the words chosen deliberately to make him feel small. Ni~ya bristled, but then heard the rustle of a condom packet being opened and wanted to weep with gratitude. He was going to have to give himself a severe talking-to after this was over, but, like killing Ruka, it would have to wait: as soon as he felt the older man's cock begin to push into him the ability to speak deserted him completely, and he could only groan happily and cling to the keyboard until Ruka was as deep inside him as he could possibly be.

“You _do_ sound like a slut, Ni~ya-chan,” gasped Ruka smugly, and began to move. It was very rare that the bassist let him do this, and he was still tight as the first time; it took his breath away. He smoothed his hands down Ni~ya's waist to grasp the curve of his pelvis – everything about Ni~ya was beautiful as far as Ruka was concerned, but it was the combination of seductive hips and jet-black eyes that never failed to drive him crazy. At the moment the eyes were squeezed shut against the overwhelming sensations of Ruka's cock and his hands and the mouth pressing kisses to the back of his neck; but they were _there_ all the same, and Ruka loved them whether they were snapping with fury or soft and shining with pleasure.

Ni~ya shifted beneath him, arching his back with a muffled word of amazement, and suddenly Ruka was flying, at least that's what it felt like: the angle freer, he increased the pace in a way that made Ni~ya gasp.

“ _There_...!” said Ni~ya desperately, in the general direction of the floor. Ruka tangled one hand in the thick black hair and tugged his head back.

“Good?!”

“I... _so_ good...” came Ni~ya's hoarse voice, an exhausted, wondering expression on his pale face. Ruka, at the sight of it, experienced a moment of pure adoration, which was unusual – his feelings for Ni~ya were complicated, love and frustration, friendship and lust all fighting for supremacy – but which made him lean down until his body was tight against the smaller man's and he could stretch out enough to kiss him. Ni~ya returned the caress untidily, too undone with pleasure to be skilful but conveying enough entreaty that Ruka took pity on him and decided to be magnanimous. Well, to a certain extent.

“Remember this, Ni~ya-chan...!” he said through clenched teeth, driving harder into him and dropping one hand down to grasp his straining erection. “...When you're in some rich chick's bed, and you think you've got it made...” Ni~ya made a faint sound somewhere between protest and ecstasy, but he carried on; “...I hope you _remember this_...I hope all you can think of is _me_!”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” spat Ni~ya, and came, throwing his head back against Ruka's shoulder with a cry of sheer rapture, every muscle tight and trembling, making a mess of Ruka's hand and the keyboard and himself.

Ruka wrapped an arm around him, clutching him tightly to his chest; Ni~ya, at that moment, had to be the most marvellous thing he had ever felt, body vibrating like a bowstring under his hands and clenching tight around his cock.

“I hope you do,” he muttered fervently, although Ni~ya had clearly forgotten everything he had said in the last thirty seconds. “ _Always_.”

He lasted another minute or two, but beyond that Ni~ya was too much for him and he had to let his orgasm blaze out with a yell, grateful beyond belief for the soundproof walls of the studio. Ni~ya had recovered enough by then to give him half a grin, white chest heaving as he tried to calm his racing pulse, which was beating a wild tango through his bloodstream.

Ruka collapsed against Ni~ya's back, knocking him down atop the keyboard again.

“Oof!” said Ni~ya, winded, unable to suppress a little noise of disappointment as the drummer pulled out of him and made an attempt to sort himself out.

“I _think_ ,” said Ruka, thoughtfully, tugging his lover up by the scruff of his neck and providing a considerate arm to lean on while Ni~ya hobbled his way over to a handy pile of cushions, “that you might as well come home with me.”

“Oh, you do.” Ni~ya winced, then settled himself on his front and glared up at Ruka.

“We can probably say that you've stood your date up by now.”

“You're a real son of a bitch,” remarked Ni~ya mildly, trying to sort out the tangles Ruka had made of his hair. Ruka shrugged.

“Well, we have better sex when I am.”

“That's just twisted.” Ni~ya closed his eyes and heard the drummer sink down in the room's one armchair. He opened them again. “And we're never doing it at work again. Who's gonna clear up the mess, huh? I don't see why _I_ should do it, I didn't start it! But someone has to. Ruka. _Ruka_?”

He caught a snore from the other side of the room and rolled over, grimacing as the hand-prints on his ass began to smart. Ruka was fast asleep in the chair, mouth hanging open in the gormless expression his bandmates all knew and loved. Ni~ya seriously considered going over there and giving him a good kicking (he hadn't forgotten the 'murder my drummer' item on his To Do list), but in the end gave up and collapsed back amongst the cushions.

“Fucking typical.”


End file.
